A Sinner in Paradise

by Deborah Hining

  Geneva was taken aback. Sally Beth had never apologized for fighting with Lilly before, but then she realized that most of the time, it had been Lilly to initiate—and sustain—an argument. Sally Beth usually treated her sister with nothing worse than that air of condescension that younger sisters find irritating, and Lilly’s temper had always been quick. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Sally Beth. I know how Lilly can be, and I’m not worried a bit. As far as I’m concerned, she can have him, but I don’t think she is his type.”

  “Well, for goodness sake, I know that! And she should have the sense to know it, too, but that doesn’t stop her from actin’ like a—like a—Jezebel in front of everbody!” She drew a deep breath and turned pleading eyes toward Geneva. “Anyway, I’m real sorry. I should know how she is by now and not git my dander all up and flyin’ around and sayin’ those awful things I said. And Lilly is really jist pitiful, she jist hates bein’ poor, and she thinks some man is going to save her from it. Tell Rachel we’re sorry, will yew? And Howard, and everbody?” She looked so miserable Geneva felt like laughing. Poor Sally Beth really did have a good heart. It just seemed that she and Lilly were such a joke that no one could take them seriously. She gave her a quick hug and said, “Sure, sweetheart. I’ve already forgotten it.”

  After Rachel and Wayne went to bed, Howard and Geneva settled themselves in the porch swing to watch the big-bellied moon slide behind a silky gauze of clouds. Geneva found herself in the odd position of feeling both comfortable with Howard and alienated from him. The most natural thing in the world would be to nestle in his arms, for she really no longer felt angry with him. And deep inside, she knew she still loved him, loved him as warmly as her heart could beat and still find part of her mind wandering toward the man across the field. She let Howard put his arm around her while she wondered if John were watching this moon, too. It felt strange, this feeling of love for two men at once, and even more strange was Howard’s being here, out of context in the mountain night. She had always associated him with his classy apartment and dinner in downtown restaurants. John should be with her now, here in the creaky swing. For her to feel completely comfortable with Howard, they should get back into the gleaming Jaguar and drive for the city lights.

  “Penny,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “Not worth it,” she replied. “I haven’t had a coherent thought since you arrived.”

  “I set you all awhirl, do I?’

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Like your car?”

  “Mmmm. Must have cost you a nice little bundle.”

  “Not at all. The nice thing about being a stock market analyst is that we know how to make money in any kind of economy.”

  She sighed, weary, but Howard mistook it for romance. He pulled her to him and kissed her, and she let herself sink into his arms, remembering the taste of his mouth, the feel and scent of his body close to hers. A faint response stirred in her, triggered by months of conditioning during her life with him, but after a moment it died, crushed by her weariness and her sense of dislocation. An image of John kissing the palm of her hand flashed in her brain, and she found herself comparing the two men with a calculating coldness she did not like.

  Let’s face it. Howard was wealthy, and he had just offered her a brand new Jaguar convertible— but that was about it. He had mistreated her, and although he was now returning with his apologies, the fact that he was capable of mistreating her remained. Essentially, he was spoiled and cowardly. On the other hand, John had told her lies, but Geneva now understood that such lies were not a sign of cowardice, but of a romantic nature, and somehow, a self-deprecating sense of humor. He would never be able to buy her the kinds of things that Howard could, but then, what did she really want? The Jaguar looked decadent and overly lavish there in the gravel drive, something like a gaudy bracelet on the arm of a child. She stirred. “I’m sorry, Howard. I’m really tired, and I need to go to bed. Let’s please just hold this until tomorrow.”

  She could feel his disappointment. “Of course, darling. I’ve been thoughtless. I suppose your arm is bothering you after your ride today?”

  She glanced at it. “Yes, I suppose it is. Goodnight. I guess Rachel has already got you set up in a room?”

  He hesitated. “Yes. But I was hoping—I mean, yes. I can find everything just fine. Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams. You go on in. I think I’ll just sit out here and gaze at the moon and think about you.”

  Geneva smiled. She wondered if John were doing the same, and the funny thought struck her that maybe the two of them could get together and gaze at the moon and think of her while she slept. She bet herself that John would start a hyperbole competition. Howard would no doubt be surprised at his command of the language.

  “Goodnight, Howard. Don’t gaze too long. The moon can drive a man crazy, you know.” She went to bed and slept dreamlessly until the Sunday sun lifted her eyelids.

  After breakfast, Wayne, Rachel, and all four of the children went to church. Geneva declined their invitation, feeling awkward at the thought of Howard sitting in the plain little sanctuary. He surely would find it primitive, and although he would say nothing unkind, he would feel condescending there among her kinfolk, some of them uneducated and dowdy. She remembered Howard’s mother, so sophisticated in her Dior suits, her polished, bejeweled hands clasped gracefully in her small lap. Geneva could not help but compare her to her aunt Dorothy Jean, all two hundred and sixty pounds of her, enamored of polyester pantsuits and Beechnut gum. They would prefer, she decided, to go riding instead, for she wanted to show Howard the best of what these hills had to offer.

  He was a capable rider, if a bit stiff in the western saddle, so they took an easy trail to the north. Geneva did not want to go near John’s place, so they wound their way up to a little grotto where water tumbled down to an inky pool laced with black stemmed maidenhair ferns and deep, cushiony moss. The mist rose up like fairy dust, nourishing the wet rankness and bejeweling the rocks and banks with droplets like emeralds. Geneva had always loved it here. Her heart thumped with a strange shyness, almost fear, as she looked at Howard and willed him to love it, too.

  He found the place charming. “No wonder you’ve been happy here,” he commented, settling himself on a large rock by the pool. “You look as at home here as a wood nymph, and about as delectable.” He pulled her down beside him. They talked for a while, but soon, to Geneva’s dismay, they ran out of things to say. She felt more awkward as she showed him the wintergreen and the place where the watercress grew, then with growing alarm, watched him become bored as she explained why the Indian pipes had no color.

  He was not interested in Indian pipes, he told her when she chided him; he was interested only in her. He had missed her and yearned for her for so long that he could hardly contain himself now that they were together again. And then, half jesting, he tumbled her into the wet moss and splashed water on her until her thin T-shirt was soaked and clinging.

  “Oh, what a fashion statement!” he teased. Wear this on Madison Avenue, and West Virginia will become a mecca for designers.” She laughed, but was embarrassed at her transparent garment.

  “Shame on you!” she cried, trying to wring out the water.

  “Here, let me help you. You can just take it off and it will be dry in an hour or two,” he said, reaching for her and tugging at the wet T-shirt.

  As Geneva’s embarrassment grew, she wished she had never brought Howard here. She was incapable of returning his kisses, for in this context, she felt his passion defiling. Everything was wrong; nothing had been right since he had come here, and now, as his hands caressed her and pushed her into the moss, she began to struggle with him, fearing irrationally that she might drown in its velvety depths.

  Suddenly he stopped, sitting up and looking at her with impatience. “Geneva, what is the problem? I know you still love me, don’t you?”

  She glared at him. “Yes, Howard, I still love you. But I don’t think I like y
ou anymore. You haven’t been a very nice person lately.”

  Howard thought about this, looking very sad, but then he lifted his head and asked suspiciously, “This doesn’t have anything to do with one of those two hillbillies I met yesterday, does it? Surely nothing has happened between you and them.”

  Geneva did not like his high-handed tone. She threw back her head and replied archly, “As a matter of fact, a lot of things have happened between me and them. Let’s see… the night I met Howard Knight, we had a car wreck, and I got cut up a bit.” She indicated the scar, still angry on her forehead. “And Rachel had the babies, and then I went up the mountain with him and got stoned and chased him all around the barn, begging him to strip for me. It was a very interesting evening.”

  “Very funny, Geneva. I know how you feel about drugs.”

  “And John—that’s the other hillbilly, the one who seems not to like city slickers. By my reckoning, about the time that you were settling on the front porch to wait for me to come home, I was trying my damnedest to seduce him up on top of a mountain.”

  “That’s funny, too, Geneva.”

  “He didn’t think so. Gave me a lecture on the pitfalls of premarital sex. Quite an honorable fellow that John. Both of them, actually. Unlike some people I know. How many women have you slept with in the past six months, Howard?”

  He flushed slightly. “I resent that, Geneva. And I resent your treating my question so cavalierly. You can understand why I might be jealous, and the least you can do is tell me the truth.”

  She sighed. “Okay, he didn’t give me a lecture. He just acted like he thought I should know better.”

  Howard stood up. “Let’s go back. I’m not interested in hearing wild tales about your unseemly behavior, and this place has turned out to be not so pleasant after all.”

  Without a word Geneva climbed on a rock and swung herself up on Fairhope’s back. But her anger was dissipating. Poor Howard! He was out of his element here, and he was having a bad time of it. She would not be surprised if he high tailed it out by tomorrow, she thought grimly.

  But to her surprise, he did stay until Tuesday morning, and while she remained cool toward him, he behaved nicely the whole weekend, talking prettily about how happy they would be once they were back in DC together, the clubs they would join, the Important People they would know. Geneva found herself enjoying his company again, and more than once she was tempted to sigh and give in to him if only to visit the city again and to see how it felt to be there with him. But many things held her back. She understood that Rachel really needed her and that she should stay at least a few more weeks to help out around here.

  And there was John. It was confusing to think that she might actually be in love with two men at once, but whenever she tried to sort out her feelings, she kept coming back to the same conclusion. And worse, she found herself missing John while she was with Howard. She missed his sense of humor and the way she felt so easy and comfortable and warm around him. Howard was a bit of a strain. She always felt like she needed to apologize for things. She began to take more care with the way she looked. On Sunday night she polished her nails, but she felt a little foolish doing it.

  Tuesday morning, Howard packed the car while Geneva stood aside and watched without helping.

  “I wish you’d change your mind and come with me. It will be an awfully long drive without you.”

  “It’s a pretty day. You’ll do fine.”

  He hesitated, then spoke earnestly, “Geneva, I know it hasn’t been the best of times while I’ve been here, but I’m not discouraged. I’ll be back. I’ve made up my mind about this, and I’m not going to give up.”

  She smiled, glad he had said that. “Okay, Howard. Whenever you’re ready to bring my car back to me, you just come on. I’ll be here.”

  He kissed her good-bye and left. Geneva thought about the beaded gold gown she had worn to the last party Howard’s firm had thrown and how good she had looked in it. She walked back to the house feeling emotionally exhausted and downright stupid. Life was getting too complicated.

  Howard was not out of the driveway before the phone rang. It was Howard Knight, calling to ask if he could come the next day. Her car was repaired, he declared, and he would like to bring her back to get it. She thanked him warmly, apologizing for not having been able to spend time with him the Saturday before. Something about her had been humbled since the night she had met him. No longer did she feel the urge to sniff at his ignorance and his lack of social graces.

  “Who was that?” Rachel inquired. “Another boyfriend? Don’t you find it a little hard to keep them all apart?”

  Geneva smiled. “It was Howard Knight. And I guess you could say yes, he is sort of a boyfriend, considering what I did to him the night the babies were born.”

  She told Rachel the story, embellishing it with as many exaggerations and flourishes as she could think up, and by the time she had finished the telling, she and Rachel both were sitting on the floor, raking tears from their eyes, screaming with laughter.

  It took them through lunch to sober up. Rachel had to hear it again in bits and pieces, and with each retelling Geneva beefed it up more. “Ooooh, Haaaaaaaaard! Let me see! And when we went over the side of that loft, I thought we were flying. Didn’t even realize my elbow was smashed until the next morning. And then poor Jimmy Lee comes in all thrilled with me braving all that pain while I was burying him!”

  “Geneva, you are so awful! And I’m so glad you’re my sister. I don’t know how I got along with my dull life before you got here. Poor Jimmy Lee! Poor Howard!” She shook her head, picking up baby Lenora to nurse her. Smiling at her child, she spent a thoughtful moment stroking the tiny, downy head. Then she looked at Geneva pensively.

  “You know, Geneva, we are awful to laugh at Howard. He really is a good person. Just think how he must have felt, you chasing him around the barn like that after he had gone to all the trouble to save us from that horrible situation.”

  “I know,” sighed Geneva. “If it weren’t so funny, it would be pretty sad. I suppose I’ll have to apologize to him. And I will when he comes tomorrow.”

  “Howard’s a lot smarter than you think he is,” said Rachel. “And he’s had a pretty tragic life that I think he’s handled awfully well, considering. When we were in school, he was a budding poet. As a matter of fact, do you remember that poetry competition I won in the ninth grade?”

  “With the poem about the fireflies?”

  “Yes. Well, I really shouldn’t have won that. Howard should have. But he had dropped out of school because his parents were in an accident and his mother was killed. His father lost both of his legs, and Howard just quit school. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”

  “Why do you say he should have won the competition?” asked Geneva. “I thought your poem was pretty good.”

  “You should have seen Howard’s stuff. It made my firefly poem seem infantile. Wait a minute. I think I may have something he wrote. Here, hold Lenora, and I’ll see if I can find it. It may be in my scrapbook.”

  Geneva followed Rachel upstairs to her bedroom and her sister rummaged through a box from the closet.

  “Yes, here it is,” Rachel said, smiling. “I believe he had a bit of a crush on me, and he gave me this just before he left school. It was interesting. I had a huge crush on him, too. I thought he was brilliant, and even though I loved this poem, I don’t believe I really understood it until much later. It seemed sort of clairvoyant when I finally figured it out.”

  Geneva took the scrapbook to examine the sheaf of Blue Horse notebook paper, now well yellowed and brittle, beside the pressed daisies tied with a purple ribbon. Geneva sat on the bed to read the fine, upright script.

  April 9, 1965

  To Rachel

  The eagle flies deep in the heart of night,

  Proud of his ancient story,

  But before the Sun, he falters in flight,

  Trembling before her glory.


  And in her brightness, he buries his dreams,

  For he cannot eclipse her, and there is no elixir

  To lure or enlist her.

  He watches her hopelessly, it seems.

  Like all, he adores her but he cannot implore her,

  For he’s only a shadow in her gold light.

  To her just a creature, trying to reach her,

  He longs for her as he conquers the night.

  Now I tell you this secret,

  So my message is done:

  I am that eagle.

  You

  Are that

  Sun.

  Geneva read the poem twice. “Howard wrote this when he was in the ninth grade? Our Howard? Howard Knight? Hard? Hemp grower extraordinaire?”

  “There’s more to him than you’d expect, at least there was, and I have a feeling he may still run pretty deep.”

  “What about that old aw-shucks façade? I mean, the grammar in this poem is better than what he uses now.”

  “He’s been living in the mountains, with no schooling since he was fifteen. When you have to worry about survival, I guess literacy takes a back burner. Beside, Geneva, you know we used to talk like that, bad grammar and all even though we knew better. Remember?”

  “I suppose so,” sighed Geneva, remembering her first diction classes and how difficult they had been. “Hit’s easy to git above yer raisin’, ain’t it?”

  “Hit shore is, honey. And the worst part of it is that sometimes when you do, you lose sight of some pretty important things.” She looked at Geneva holding Lenora in her arms. “I don’t think you should go back to DC, Geneva. I don’t think you’ll be happy with Howard. These mountains are in your blood, and if you keep away from them for too long, you’ll die of anemia. Some people might be able to live in concrete, but I know I couldn’t, and I don’t think you can, either.”

  With a wrench in her chest, Geneva realized that Rachel was probably right. “What do you think I should do? Run off with Howard Knight and help him tend his hemp patch?”